Slave
by Ghost-Tongued
Summary: INACTIVE - HIRUMA/MAMORI; What exactly were the terms of the bet that Hiruma and Mamori had made that day in the classroom? And what will be the results of Hiruma having clearly lost that bet?
1. Chapter I: The Bet

**Title: **Slave  
**Author: **ShadowDemon-Gengar  
**Character Pairings: **Hiruma/Mamori  
**Genre: **Romance/Drama  
**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Hiruma's Infamous Vulgarity  
**Disclaimers: **I own nothing Eyeshield 21  
**Summary: **What exactly were the terms of the bet that Hiruma and Mamori had made that day in the classroom? And what will be the results of Hiruma having lost that bet?

**Recommendation(s):** Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

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**Author's Note:** Based on the "bet" in episode 127, "Just for Victory".

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**Chapter One: The Bet**

"Hiruma-kun, I just told everyone that there wouldn't be any practice today," Mamori announced, smiling as she walked into the deserted classroom except for the football quarterback sitting at the front of the room, typing steadily on his laptop.

"Oh," came his nonchalant response.

She ignored his disinterested tone and walked up behind him. Casually tucking her hands behind her back, she leaned in and peered over his shoulder.

"Is that . . . Oujou's lineup?" she asked, staring at the virtual field on the small screen, red and blue triangles, circles, and squares positioned a certain way along the white yard lines.

He grunted lightly in affirmation as he continued to type, still not looking up as he spoke, "There are still a lot of things to do, even if we are resting physically."

"Ah," she murmured, then turned and sat down in the desk behind him. She crossed her arms across the wooden surface and rested her chin on them, staring at the back of his head and smiling softly. She contented herself with listening to the gentle clicking of the keys and watching the slight flexing of his back muscles under the green uniform jacket as his shoulders moved under his typing.

"You know . . . , " she murmured, still smiling, "you don't need to work so hard all by yourself . . . Even if you stop pretending to be strict, everybody will be okay . . . They won't slack off."

The steady clicking of keys slowly quieted and she glanced up curiously. He leaned back in his seat, snickering.

"What the hell are you talking about, fucking manager?" Suddenly he whipped around, startling her with his demonic smile. "How about betting on whether they'll go to the activity room?"

"W-What?" she said, blinking as he started chuckling, sounding like a jackal.

"You heard me," he said with a smirk, closing his laptop and standing up. "Let's see just how 'loyal' and 'devoted' you say they are. I'm betting that they won't show up."

"A-a bet . . . ? What happens . . . if I lose?" she asked, and immediately regretted it. She mentally kicked herself a dozen times, watching Hiruma's face take on a look of evil delight. She basically just agreed to the bet.

She sat back in her seat when he braced a large, slender hand on the surface of her desk, resting the other on his lip as he leaned down, towering over her, his grin mischievous and his green eyes piercing her blue ones.

"If I win, you'll be my slave for the whole week," he replied simply, but the devious look he was giving her told her that it wasn't going to be as 'simple' as he made it sound.

"Fine," she stated, narrowing her eyes determinedly, standing up as well. She rested her hands on her hips, smiling up at the tall quarterback. "But if _I_ win, you'll be _my_ slave for the week."

Hiruma's grin couldn't have possibly stretched any wider, but it did. He crowded in close, conquering her personal space as he smirked down at her. She refused to back down, though the nearness of his body made her self-awareness increase and she had to fight to keep a soft blush from surfacing.

"Good. But you should probably know," he drawled, bringing his face close to hers, "my slaves are mindlessly obedient. They also don't complain, nag, bitch, or oppose me. If they do . . . their darkest little secrets . . . stop being secrets."

She lost her battle against the blush, her cheeks now burning as she stared into his eyes, his black lashes impossibly long, making those emerald-green slits unholy beautiful. Her face burned hotter when that realization crossed her mind.

"That's fine," she ground out, desperately trying to hold her ground when all she wanted to do was push him away; to put some distance between their bodies again. He was so close that she could actually feel the heat radiating off his body and notice the scent of warm cinnamon from his gum on his breath.

"That's fine," she repeated, firmly taking hold of her resolve and straightening her shoulders and even dared herself to invade _his_ personal space, the distance between them squeezed even tighter. The action caused him to lift one of his eyebrows, but he kept smirking as she continued with a small smirk of her own, "But _my_ slaves are not violent, do not blackmail people, and do not carry any weapons of any kind on their person."

At that, she saw, with smug satisfaction, the devilish mirth fade from his eyes.

"Also," she continued, leaning in boldly as a frown started to turn down his mouth, "my slaves do not yell, curse, insult people, or say offensive things . . . in fact, they don't say anything at all! My slaves are completely mute."

She was enjoying herself immensely. She could see the steady increase of irritation crossing his face. She grinned. "_And_ . . . they're just as obedient as your slaves. In fact, they _enjoy_ doing any task I give them, no matter how small, stupid or . . . _degrading_ they might be. If they don't obey my _every_ command, they'll be shown to the public as being a coward, untrustworthy, a liar, and someone who can't hold their end of a bet _they_ started."

The blond, lanky quarterback glared down at her. She could see, with delight, the unease creeping into his narrowed eyes.

But, instead of backing out, he stuck out a hand, smirking again. "You got yourself a fucking deal."

With a confident smile, she took it and gave it a firm shake.

"Heh," Hiruma said, gathering up his laptop and heading toward the door. "I'm going to win this bet, damn manager. Those fucking brats cherish their days off like you would the last creampuff left in the world."

Mamori grinned, following him. "You're wrong, Hiruma. _I'm_ going to win this bet and you're going to see that your team really is dedicated."


	2. Chapter II: The Winner

**Title: **Slave  
**Author: **ShadowDemon-Gengar  
**Character Pairings: **Hiruma/Mamori  
**Genre: **Romance/Drama  
**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Hiruma's Infamous Vulgarity  
**Disclaimers: **I own nothing Eyeshield 21  
**Summary: **What exactly were the terms of the bet that Hiruma and Mamori had made that day in the classroom? And what will be the results of Hiruma having lost that bet?

**Recommendation(s):** Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Wow, I'm so sorry for the late update. I'm working on multiple fictions for two different fandoms, so it's coming a bit slow. I haven't decided yet if I will make the "days" separate chapters or put them all into one big chapter. If this takes even longer to update, then it's probably the latter. Anyway, please enjoy and know that I love concrit and advice.

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**Chapter II: The Winner**

"Well, Taki-kun and Kurita-kun showed up," Mamori said, smiling smugly at Hiruma who was lazily lounging in a chair, his legs kicked up on the roulette table and his arms crossed behind his head, the chair having been tilted back and balanced precariously.

He glanced up at her, absently chewing his gum, "The bet is still on, shitty manager. You only win if _all_ of the fucking team shows up."

That caught her attention. She frowned slightly, gripping broomstick as she heard something ugly and suspicious in his words. "You mean the three brothers, Sena, and Monta . . . right?"

Hiruma turned his gaze up at her, annoyance narrowing his eyes. "No, fucking _all_ of them. In other words, I'm also including the shitty kicker, damn baldy, fucking fatty junior, lazy ass sumo, the shitty twosome basketball losers, and fucking inconspicuous."

She gaped at him, indignant and disbelieving. "But . . . Hiruma, that isn't fair! It was already known that they won't be here until evening practice! They're busy!"

Hiruma shrugged a broad shoulder, smirking as he closed his eyes. "That wasn't part of the deal, damn manager."

"Oh, you – you jerk!" she said, nudging him none-too-gently in the shoulder with the end of her broomstick. "Why did you even bother making up such a bet if you knew you were just going to cheat?! There's no fun in this if you're going to be that way, using the loopholes to win!"

He continued to act nonchalant. "That's what you get for making a deal with the Devil."

"Hiruma! Come on!" She jabbed him again with the broom.

"Fuck, knock it off!" he snapped, glaring up at her. She just crossed her arms, glaring back. The other three occupants in the room were standing off in a corner, listening and watching intently, confused as to what was going on.

"Kurita-san," whispered Suzuna, blinking up at the large lineman, "what bet are they talking about?"

Kurita looked nervous, scratching the back of his head, "I don't know, but whatever it is . . . it's not going to end well if Hiruma is in on it."

Taki threw his open his jacket and struck a pose, winking, "Ah-_hah­_-ha! They must be betting on my future performance against the Oujou White Knights! Hiruma-san is obviously betting one-hundred-fifty percent and Mamori-neechan is betting five-hundred percent!"

The quarterback and team manager didn't pay attention to the commotion going on behind them, especially when Suzuna pounced on her twirling brother with an irritated shout.

"Tch, fine, you damn crybaby."

"H-huh?" She was startled back a step when he suddenly thrust a long index finger at her. He grinned viciously.

"Being the _kind_ man that I am, I'll grant you one lifeline," he stated, his green eyes glinting with mysterious, devious intent.

"A-a lifeline?" she repeated slowly, not quite understanding what he meant.

He got up, the chair scraping across the hard floor. He braced a hand on the table, towering over her just as he had in the classroom.

_Why does he always do this? It's so rude and . . . uncomfortable. _She clutched the mop to her body, ready to wield it as a shield or sword should he do anything threatening. Instead, he just poked a thin digit at her again.

"Meaning, you get to block one loophole in this bet," he said, ducking down until his nose was nearly touching hers. "And there's more than one."

Her grip on the broomstick was so tight that she could actually feel her fingers growing slightly numb. Something in her gut was screaming at her to back out of the deal right then and there; telling her that even if she won the bet . . . she was still going to lose in the end.

That's just how things worked when one dealt with Hiruma.

But if she backed out now, she knew she'd regret it later . . . it might even give him the impression that she was a coward; easily intimidated. It might even give him the assumption that he could walk all over her . . .

Even if she did use her 'lifeline', she couldn't possibly use it on any other loophole . . . She'd lose inevitably if she did, knowing already that the players he mentioned were _not_ going to show up until much, _much_ later.

She wanted to win; wanted to use the bet as her opportunity to get back at him for all grief he'd delightfully put everyone – his friends, her friends, the Disciplinary Committee, the whole student body, the teachers – through. She wouldn't have gone through the trouble – or risk having it backfiring – of agreeing to such a bet if she wasn't going to use it against him.

And it was that single thought – the realization that the taste of delicious revenge was just within her reach; just scant inches from her fingertips – that was what fed and strengthened her courage.

"Fine," she ground out, tilting her chin up determinedly. "Yes. I'm cutting out the part where _all_ of the team has to show up."

Much to her extreme dismay, those devil-feline eyes took on a sort of wicked triumph. Her inner warning bells started shrilling again and she had the hideous feeling that she had just walked, willy-nilly, into a trap . . .

Suddenly, he backed away and she heard the door sliding open. Confetti poppers exploded and the colorful pieces of paper and glitter floated down to the floor. She felt relief when she saw the confused faces of Sena and Monta just outside the threshold, followed by the older faces of the three Huh-Huh Brothers peeking in from behind them.

"YA-A!" cheered Suzuna while Kurita shouted cheerfully, "Banzai! Banzai!"

She grinned, turning to the hellish quarterback who, with a small jolt of surprise, was wearing a small smirk that wasn't . . . threatening or frightening in the least.

She shook it off and stated proudly, "Look, see? They're finally here, just as I said they would be!"

He chuckled, shrugging slightly before saying, "Heh. You guys came even on your day off. Good for you."

She jerked back when that psychotic grin of his sliced across his face. He pointed outside and shouted happily, "Now look up, fucking brats!"

She gasped, bracing herself against her broom handle when powerful wind suddenly slammed into the clubroom, throwing boxes and papers all around. The deafening chopping sound of a helicopter's rotor harshly greeted her ears, and she snapped her gaze up at the tall, slinky football captain, gaping in shock.

A helicopter . . .? But . . . how? _Why?_

He couldn't have possibly known the team was going to show up! He couldn't have even known the exact _time_ they were going to show up!

But he did . . . and it wasn't coincidental. She knew she would be fooling herself if she thought otherwise.

So what was the whole point in making a bet if he _knew_ he was going to lose?!

"Get in the fuckin' chopper, kiddies! We're goin' for a ride!"

She snapped out of her thoughts and before she could stop herself, she shouted, angry and confused and feeling absolutely deceived. _"Hiruma!"_

The spiky-haired blond turned, giving her his attention. She felt fury build up in her chest, seeing that snide grin.

He was acting as if _he_ had won . . .

That infuriated her more. Unable to contain herself, she jerked her hand up, pointing her forefinger at him and shouting over the roar the helicopter, the harsh wind snapping their clothes against their bodies and whipping their hair around their faces:

"Hiruma-kun! The winning bet starts _**now**__!"_

His face lost that arrogant, self-satisfied look.


	3. Chapter III: Slave

**Title: **Slave  
**Author: **ShadowDemon-Gengar  
**Character Pairings: **Hiruma/Mamori  
**Genre: **Romance/Drama  
**Rating: **T  
**Warnings: **Hiruma's Infamous Vulgarity  
**Disclaimers: **I own nothing Eyeshield 21  
**Summary: **What exactly were the terms of the bet that Hiruma and Mamori had made that day in the classroom? And what will be the results of Hiruma having lost that bet?

**Recommendation(s):** Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

* * *

**Author's Note:** As promised to _TooManyIdeas_, I plan on finishing this. This is just a tiny bit I've had done, but I'm working on the last chapter. Also be looking out for the prologue to "_Once Upon a Freaking Time_", a collection of Hiruma/Mamori-styled fairy tales and plays/musicals, including ones like _Beauty and the Beast _and _Phantom of the Opera_. :]

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**Chapter III: Slave**

Sena had endured a lot surprises in the last few hours: the special training after school when it was supposed to be their break day. The tiny, confusing celebration when he had opened the door. The appearance of a helicopter. The gun-forced ride _in_ the helicopter. Then being required to wear surgical masks for the next three days, not allowed to be removed under any circumstance.

However, this . . . this was a surprise on a completely different level.

A very bewildering and _terrifying_ level.

"Am . . . I really seeing this, Sena?" stuttered the former baseball player standing next to him, his voice lightly muffled behind the mask, his eyes as wide as the running back's as they took in the scene before them.

Across the field, Mamori was pointing at their clearly agitated captain, vehemently telling him to do something. They couldn't hear what was being said, but they understood that it had to do with his precious _AK-47 Assault Rifle_ currently resting against his shoulder. It was obvious that she wanted the weapon to join the others in the massive pile that was stacked in a wheelbarrow behind her.

"Is . . . this a sign of something bad?" Sena squeaked, awed when the quarterback actually gave in and tossed the gun at her.

"No. It's just a bet that Hiruma lost."

Sena looked up as Musashi casually strolled up to them, picking at his ear offhandedly.

"A bet?" inquired Juumonji as he and the rest of the team joined them to observe the scene. They could only stare in stunned when Hiruma started to walk away, but was abruptly pulled to a stop when their small manager firmly grabbed a hold of his jersey. They watched her hold out her hand expectedly, clearly demanding something else from him.

From what they could see, even though the lower half of his face was completely hidden by his own surgical mask, they could tell that their quarterback was pissed.

"What bet?" Sena finally inquired as Hiruma violently whipped out something that looked suspiciously like his Devil's Notebook and slapped it down into the outstretched hand.

"Something about the team showing up on their day off," Musashi replied calmly, then turned and started walking away. "I'd get moving, by the way."

"Eh?" Sena said, turning to stare at the retreating back of the kicker. "Why?"

_"FUCKING BRATS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHO SAID YOU COULD TAKE A BREAK!?"_

"IIEEE!" he cried, quickly running away with the rest of the team when their seething captain stalked back onto the field, clearly looking like he was going to start collecting heads. Their heads, to be exact.

For Sena, whatever bet the man had lost, he seriously hoped that the team wouldn't be punished for it.

* * *

Mamori looked up, dusting her hands off on her simple white apron, happy to see the silent quarterback still helping her clean up the clubroom. After the helicopter's appearance, everything had been thrown around the room, making it look like a small tornado had intruded.

And what better time to start exercising her power as a slave driver than to force her slave to help reorganize? It was his fault anyway, so it wasn't as if she was asking a lot from him.

"You know," she began, picking up scattered football magazines and stacking them in a neat pile on the table, "you really shouldn't take your frustration out on the team. They didn't make the bet or force you to take it. You knew perfectly well what would've happen if I'd won, Hiruma-kun."

She heard an annoyed grunt, but no words. Well, at least he was taking the bet seriously.

She walked up to him and gently took the box of binders from his arms, smiling kindly up at him. He looked away jerkily, his feline-like eyes narrowed irritably above the mask that concealed his sharp nose and mouth. She tilted her head slightly, still smiling. "Oh, don't be like that, Hiruma-kun. At least you still get to talk on the field."

She turned away and walked the box to the book shelf. "Which, by the way, you should really thank Doburoku-sensei properly for. After all, I never did think that the bet would interfere with your job as captain."

She finished lining the binders on the shelf and turned to the "mute" quarterback who was currently wiping his hands off on his slacks. He seemed to ignore her, instead stalking across the room to straighten a small stack of boxes in the corner.

Dragging her eyes from him, she looked up at the clock. It was getting a little late, being half-past six. She figured it was time to call it a day. She still had homework to do and game plans to go over after all.

Smiling, she untied her apron and began making her way to the broom closet, calling out, "All right, you can stop now. It's time to head home." Then she paused, a thought striking her suddenly. A sugary-sweet smile slid across her lips before she added in cheerfully, "I think I'll have you walk me home! And now that I think of it, tomorrow I want you to walk me to school, too. Oh, and you can walk me to my classes as well! After all, my slaves are absolute _gentlemen_."

She bit her lip, a grin trying to break through when she thought she heard him hiss a curse under his breath.

Oh, this was going to be _so_ much fun!


End file.
